


For Want of a God

by Corde (chickwithmonkey)



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickwithmonkey/pseuds/Corde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of a God

_For want of a breath, a heart was lost._  
  
The warrior crouched over as far as her swollen belly would allow. “No, Gabrielle, no, you can’t do this to me!” she moaned frantically. “No, no, don’t go, don’t leave me!”  
  
The woman on the ground was fighting. Blond, muscular, gasping for air, it was obvious that she wouldn’t last long. No matter how fast or how good a fighter she was, she was no match for an arrow through the lung.   
  
The warrior wouldn’t give up. “You can’t, you can’t leave me! This has happened before; remember? Remember Thessaly? You can get through this, Gabrielle, you are going to be all right, you can’t leave me!”   
  
The blond stopped gasping. She looked at the warrior with deep love in her eyes, and smiled. She looked to the unborn child and laid her hand on him, as though giving a blessing. With angelic serenity, she closed her eyes and her heart beat no more.  
  
Xena screamed.  
  
 _For want of a heart, a soul was lost._  
  
“Time for breakfast, little one.” Cyrene’s cheerful voice came through the door just before she did. “I brought all your favorites. I even got you some bananas, I know how you love those, and they’re so good for the baby.” Her mindless prattle filled the room and made up for the silence of the woman in the bed.  
  
The warrior sat up listlessly and began to eat without enthusiasm. Cyrene looked at her daughter with concern. “Now, darling, will you tell me what’s wrong? I can’t stand to see you like this. Why did you come riding in through the storm so late last night? And wherever is Gabrielle?”  
  
Xena looked at her with electric blue eyes gone slate gray with grief. “It was a surprise attack,” she said. “We thought we were safe, we stopped for lunch…” she trailed off. Taking a deep breath and looking out the window, she continued in a stronger voice. “We were attacked. Five days ago. I don’t know who it was. Gabrielle was hit by an arrow, and I stayed with her. She… died very quickly.”  
  
Cyrene’s knees gave out and she sat on the bed heavily. “Oh dear Artemis,” she whispered.   
  
At the mention of the goddess, Xena’s eyes flashed with anger. “Yes, Artemis,” she hissed. Then as suddenly as it had come, the anger was gone. “There was nothing Artemis could have done that I didn’t do. I know my healing skills. I just wasn’t fast enough to catch the arrow.” She glanced at her abdomen bitterly. “Too slow. I was just… too slow.”  
  
The warrior’s gaze went again to the window. My child’s life for Gabrielle’s. If not for this child, I could have caught that arrow.  
  
 _For want of a soul, a mother was lost._  
  
Six-year-old Mikolas had his mother’s looks. And her temperament. “MIKOLAS!” his grandmother yelled out the back door of her inn. “Get back here and clean up this mess! How in Elysium you got paint on the chickens I will NEVER know!” She glared as the dark-headed boy in question peered at her from around the barn.  
  
“Gran? Are you really mad?” This said with a pout and a dimple intended to charm him out of trouble.   
  
Cyrene chuckled and leaned against the doorframe. “No, you little scamp. As long as you clean them up, I’m not mad. I’ll get you a bucket,” she told him.  
  
Searching the pantry for a bucket, Cyrene was reminded of the time when Xena was about Mikolas’ age. She had been “helping” in the kitchen and had gotten into the blackberry preserves. The girl had left sticky black handprints on everything she touched for weeks. So alike, mother and son. Cyrene wanted nothing more than for Mikolas to grow up as strong and brave as his mother had. Perhaps this time she could do it right, and the child in her care wouldn’t become a warlord. Perhaps she could do her daughter right by her daughter’s son.  _My grandson will know that it isn’t his fault that he doesn’t have a mother._   
  
_For want of a mother, a child was lost._  
  
Sixteen-year-old Mikolas slammed the door to the inn and left town at a dead run.  _I’ll show them. I’ll show them all! I am the son of the great Xena, and I can fight just as well as any of them!_   
  
He ran so hard and fast that he didn’t see the thugs until he tripped over one. The thug’s hand shot out and grabbed Mikolas’ ankle, taking the boy down. The thug crouched over the boy and leaned an elbow into his chest. “Hey, boy. We be a gang of… traveling salesmen,” the thug said, to the various baritone chuckles of the five other men. “Do you have any dinars to spend on our wares?”  
  
“No,” said Mikolas. He felt no fear. “But I’d like to be a traveling salesman too. Can I join your gang?”  
  
The thug gaped. “Boy, are you slow? We’re thieves! Pickpockets! Mercenaries when we get the chance. What do you think you’re talking about?”  
  
Mikolas lifted his chin in a defiant gesture. “I know what you are. I want to join.”  
  
The thug stood up and pulled the boy to his feet. “Looks like you found yourself a profession, boy,” he said and clapped his new comrade on the back.  
  
 _For want of a child, a man was lost._  
  
Twenty-six-year-old Mikolas surveyed the carnage from atop his warhorse. All had gone according to plan. His army had pillaged, then burned. That was the correct order of things.  
  
He turned to the lines of slaves he had captured, bound together by ropes. He sneered. He had practiced that sneer. “Alright, slaves. You’re mine now, to do with as I see fit. Any questions? Good. Take them away,” he ordered his lieutenant. Mikolas didn’t look at the faces he had conquered. Another day, another village. Life is good, thought Mikolas.  
  
 _For want of a man, the battle was lost._  
  
“This isn’t supposed to be happening,” Ares gasped as he slashed with his sword. “They aren’t supposed to win! We are!”  
  
“Tell that to THEM,” replied Hercules, fighting his own opponents.   
  
They ran out of breath for further conversation. Everyone was engrossed in the battle, hacking and slashing at the strange beings. No one could say exactly what their enemy looked like, but everyone agreed that they didn’t want to look. The inky black forms were everywhere, dying quickly but winning with sheer numbers.   
  
All the gods of Olympus and all the demi-gods from earth had been battling the invaders for what seemed like generations. Some retired heroes had been brought back from their peaceful farms and villages; others had been brought back from the dead. At first the gods were doing well, but after a while they began to tire. Fighting nameless, shapeless beasts day after day, year after year was wearing them down. The gods couldn’t figure it out. They had known about this for eons, had foretold it, had seen it coming, and had known they were eventually going to win. So why were they losing?   
  
Something is missing, they all thought. Someone is missing. Someone isn’t here. But no one knew whom.   
  
 _For want of a battle, the war was lost._  
  
There were only a few left. The very strongest of the gods and men, the ones who had been the best soldiers. Ares, of course, and Zeus, Artemis, Minerva, and Hephaestus. Hercules, Jason, Ulysses, Achilles and Atalanta still fought bravely. The rest were gone. As if they had never been. Then these few too were gone.  
  
 _For want of a war, the world was lost.  
As if it had never been._  
  
The light in the ball flared and died out. The great God of War stared at the ball and wept like a child. Atropos smoothed his hair and held him to her as if he were her own son. “I am old and you are young, dear Ares, but this does not have to be. This is not how it is supposed to be. We Fates cannot control what mortals and gods do, but we can show you what might happen.”  
  
Ares stopped his tears and looked at the eldest fate without shame. “It will not come to pass,” he vowed. “I will not allow it.”  
  
 _For want of a breath…_  
  
The warrior crouched over as far as her swollen belly would allow. “No, Gabrielle, no, you can’t do this to me!” she moaned frantically. “No, no, don’t go, don’t leave me!”  
  
The woman on the ground was fighting. Blond, muscular, gasping for air, it was obvious that she wouldn’t last long. No matter how fast or how good a fighter she was, she was no match for an arrow through the lung.   
  
Ares materialized invisibly next to the women. He crouched on the other side of the young blond, admiring the muscles her abbreviated outfit displayed. He reached his hand through her body and into her lung, pulling the arrowhead over just enough. The woman stopped gasping.  
  
“Ow! Xena, it’s okay! Just pull the thing out and tie it up! I’ll be fine!” she claimed through pain-clenched teeth. Shaking from an imagined close call, Xena set to work. She skillfully removed the arrow and bandaged her friend. She didn’t know what had made her think Gabrielle was going to die. The arrow had been nowhere near any of her vital organs. Sure, the young bard would have sore ribs for a while, but she would live. Pregnancy plays tricks on the mind, Xena thought. I’ll be glad when it’s over. I wonder if my child will be a boy or a girl…  
  
 _For want of a god:  
a breath was given,  
a heart was saved,  
a soul was cherished,  
a mother was happy,  
a child was loved,  
a man was raised,  
a battle was won.  
a war was not in vain,  
and a world lived on… as though it had always been._

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2000 or so. Those were the days.


End file.
